


Out-Finesse

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also I've Been Watching a Lot of Kitchen Nightmares and I Love Gordon Ramsey, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Bartender Gadreel, Castiel Offers Help, Cocky Dean Winchester, Cooking, Customer Castiel, Dean is a Very Open Bisexual, Embarrassed Dean, Embarrassment, First Meetings, Flairtending, For reasons, Hand injury, Humor, Injured Dean, Light Angst, M/M, Not Too Graphic Though - All of It Is in the Summary, Regular Dean, Sexual Humor, Talking, Yes It Has An Actual Name I'm So Impressed And Amazed By It, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 22:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12022593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: What he intends to do is a simple stall trick. What happens instead is he flips the bottle onto the back of his right hand and loses balance. He reaches out with his left hand to catch the bottle of Jim Beam before the inevitable happens, but the bottle ends up crashing partly onto the countertop and partly onto Dean’s hand, a shower of glass cascading everywhere. Dean winces.“Oh my God!” the man exclaims, eyes wide, mouth dropping. “Are you okay?!”Dean looks down and finds some shards of glass, now stained with blood, sticking out his hand. “I, um… this usually doesn’t… happen.”





	Out-Finesse

“Mmm, Gadreel, buddy…”

“That good?” Gadreel asks, lips tugging a little. It’s the closest he comes to a smile during Happy Hour, which is ironic, considering.

Dean sucks in his cheeks like he’s intentionally smoldering, but really, he’s just trying to keep the meat far away from his taste buds. “ _Blegh_ ,” he emphasizes as the chewed (barely) leathery meat comes tumbling from his mouth and into the napkin he sets as a trap to catch it. “ _That_ is disgusting.”

“You’re nuts,” Gadreel scoffs, “everyone loves my patties.”

“Now _that_ I can believe, you’re a handsome guy.” Dean’s uses his front teeth as a brush in an attempt to scrub the residue of char from his mouth. Gadreel shakes his head and blessedly takes the plate from him. “C’mon, don’t get all _Kitchen Nightmares_ on me. I’m not tearing into it as much as Gordon Ramsey would—I wish I _could_ tear into it. It’s a shame, really. It has all the right flavor combinations, it’s just overcooked. Bones would probably mistake this for a shoe if I fed it to him.”

Gadreel purses his thin lips and his eyebrows do that thing where they rise to the top only to dip a little into his nose. Passive aggressive folks never cease to short of amaze Dean with the things they can do with their facial expressions. He can practically hear Gadreel screaming at him.

“Okay, okay,” Dean concedes, “I’ll admit, that last line was unnecessary and would’ve fared better with a snobby British accent. _But_ , no need to fear, because I can grill a mean burger. And I can whip up a good drink, too.”

Gadreel laughs, “You can out-finesse me? _You_?”

“I’m the only Dean in here,” Dean says, making a point out of looking around him briefly. There are a few older gentlemen on the shorter side that compensate with beards close to rivaling ZZ Top to his left and to his right, Abercrombie rejects in their mid-twenties urging their buddy, a tall guy with a long face to match his Rick Springfield hair, to down another shot. (They’re privileged college kids. All they need is a little apple cider and they’re raring to go.)

“Alright,” Gadreel says with a hint of amusement, “let your bi flag fly, Dean and prove to me you can bartend _and_ cook during the busiest time of the day.”

Dean scoffs, standing up, “Fine.”

And that’s how Dean ends up behind the bar. Little known fact is he knows everything about flairtending from his time in Mexico City where his father, a Marine, was stationed at the time. Gadreel insists it’s about just giving the customers the beer, but when it comes to being taken seriously, it’s about putting on a show. Dean proves that when he receives a round of applause from the bar doing everything from simple head catches to shadow passes—even from college boys (even though, well… they’re drunk enough to think Dean pissing in a glass would be cool).

“Not bad,” Gadreel shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Now impress me with a medium-rare burger.”

In less than six minutes, Dean returns from the kitchen with a cheeseburger with his own special touch. He slices it down the middle for Gadreel to see the juices from the meat seeping out of it. It cuts perfectly too, being so soft. Guaranteed to melt in your mouth.

Gadreel nods and a small smile tips his face again. “Alright, I see what you mean.”

Dean grins, but not fully—he already knows how awesome he is.

“Now, serve that to the waiting customer at the far end.” Gadreel smirks a little saying that.

Dean shrugs, still grinning as he sets the knife aside and picks up the plate, heading towards—

The most beautiful man to ever grace human existence. Gadreel is right: Dean knows how to let his bi flag fly when he sees a thick head of brown hair, rivaling Dean’s neatly spiked toffee-colored shock. He also has a large forehead etched with lines that appear as far down as around his navy blue eyes, indicating that he’s either a guy who spends most of his time being puzzled or amused, and with thick pink lips and a neck that could fit a whole… bratwurst (the bar is famous for their bratwurst…), Dean’s guessing it’s the latter.

Who knows, maybe he’ll get lucky enough tonight to find out.

“Um… medium-rare bacon cheeseburger for the gentleman.”

Dean’s not sure if the man’s eyes lighting up is a byproduct of the comment—especially since he smacked the plate against the counter a little harder than necessary because his hand slipped—or the burger itself, but Dean takes it as a compliment nonetheless. “Thank you,” he says, and _wowow,_ okay, his voice is almost as deep as his but super raspy. He hopes the Bourbon and Coke he asks for doesn’t smoothen it out. “If you don’t mind, I know you guys are busy,” he adds.

Gorgeous and kind. Fuck. “Not at all,” Dean replies, taking lessons from Gadreel: smiling as small as he can muster so he doesn’t look like a jackass, and then moves to grab the Bourbon.

What he _intends_ to do is a simple stall. What happens instead is he flips the bottle onto the back of his right hand and loses balance. He reaches out with his left hand to catch the bottle of Jim Beam before the inevitable happens, but the bottle ends up crashing partly onto the countertop and partly onto Dean’s hand, a shower of glass cascading everywhere. Dean winces.

“Oh my God!” the man exclaims, eyes wide, mouth dropping. “Are you okay?!”

Dean looks down and finds some shards of glass, now stained with blood, sticking out his hand. “I, um… this usually doesn’t… happen.”

“What’s going—?” Gadreel sees the mess before he can finish. “ _Dean.”_

Dean laughs shakily, “Maybe I should stay out of the bar.”

 

 

About ten minutes later, after most of the shards are out of Dean’s hand, thanks to Cas, the handsome patron at the bar, for offering his first aid skills being a doctor and all, Dean finds himself… well, in the presence of Cas. His fingers are slender and warm where they gently grasp Dean’s left hand. And surprisingly smooth, like he moisturizes on the daily. Not to mention he’s a foot away from his face. It’s hard enough when the touch alone gives Dean’s heart a literal run for its money. It’s a good thing he invested in life insurance.

“So I have a confession,” Cas speaks up after a drawn-out, near deafening pause.

Dean licks his lips as if cleaning off everything he’s thinking about saying about the surprising intimacy between them right now.

Cas smiles a little as he continues, "I'm actually not a doctor."

"What?"

"I, uh... I lied to have an excuse to talk to you."

Dean closes his mouth to keep from gawking. _Well,_ this is an interesting turn of events. "Oh."

"I mean, it wasn't a _complete_ lie,” Cas reassures, as if Dean actually cares about that at this point—Cas likes him too—but he listens anyway, because Cas is an intriguing guy, “I was in medical school at one point... but I flunked out."

"Okay," Dean laughs. "I mean, I would lie and say I'm not kickass bartender material, but..."

Cas laughs, gesturing to Dean's hand.

"What, this? This is just a gift for being cool,” Dean replies.

"Is that what the kids call it? Here I was thinking the bottle sliced your hand."

“Well, if you wanna be practical about it, sure, but I'm more of a philosophical person myself; therefore, it's a gift from the universe for being too badass."

"Alright, Chuck Norris, calm down." Cas shakes his head with a grin he has an obvious hard time at suppressing. "If it's not too forward of me to ask, what do you actually do? You know, aside from being the biggest badass in the bartender scene.”

"I'm a firefighter—station 9 on 43rd."

Cas laughs.

“What?”

"So, you’re a firefighter, trained in first aid—you could've easy patched up your wound."

"You're not the only one with an underlying motive, Cas." Dean winks. "What about you? What do you do, I mean? Aside from impersonating doctors."

"That's only my side job,” Cas corrects. "I mostly do it so I can steal some IVs of O Negs. It's hard being a full-time vampire, you know. Plus, there's the hot guys I have to impress."

"Oh, right, right.”

Cas blushes, matching Dean’s own. "I'm a massage therapist. After more than a few fainting spells drawing blood, I figured doctoring wasn't for me, but that I could still help people in some way that doesn't involve retracting bodily fluids. I thought about going into psychiatry or talk therapy, but I'm still paying off loans from medical school, so that was an easier and more reliable option. But it's alright; I wouldn't have made a good doctor, anyway. My people skills are a little rusty."

"You're a vampire, but you're afraid of blood?" Dean tsks. "Continuity, Cas. You can't expect me to be convinced of what you're feeding me if there's no continuity."

"Shit. My true identity's been revealed. I'm actually Kill Roy."

"With parts made in Japan?"

Cas ducks his head to hide a wider smile. God, what Dean would give to see the rest of his gums poking out from where his upper lip is folded inward.

"You know, for someone rusty in the people department, you're doing pretty a good job right now.”

Cas looks up again, his expression schooled into something softer. "Thank you, Dean. That means a lot,” he replies, looking back down to wrap Dean’s wound. "So, what got you into fire science?"

"Well definitely not the science part, I'll tell you that." Dean scratches his neck. "My brother is better with the numbers and stuff. We had what you'd call a rough childhood, moving place to place after our mom died. House fire. If our dad hadn't pushed me to grab Sam, I wouldn't have budged, so I kinda owe my life to the guy. And to my mom too, considering she brought me into the world."

Cas’s eyebrows lift. He keeps his head up for good now. "Wow. That's incredible."

"What? You don't have a reason you want to help people?" Dean asks. "Aside from the fact that said person might have a bleeding hand."

Cas thinks on it, coming back with, "I don't know. You see so much suffering around you and you just wanna wrap the world in a blanket, you know? But I've always loved humanity, I guess."

"Even here? At a bar?"

"Especially here."

"Wow,” Dean whistles. “That's true love then."

"Nah, the people here aren't bad. It's actually kind of the opposite,” Cas explains. “Whether you're a regular or a casual party-goer, we all come together to celebrate or mourn or bitch or moan over something. There’s a lot of humanity to that. It’s basic human connection.”

"Huh, that's... enlightening, actually,” Dean says, smiling a little. “Especially in my profession, when I see so much humanity destroyed. You should've gone into politics."

"Oh you don't wanna hear me get started on politics,” Cas warns.

"Tomorrow night."

"What?"

"Can I hear you talk politics tomorrow night over dinner?"

So _that’s_ what it takes to see Cas smile. Dean can’t get over it. For such a square, fairly stubbled face, you wouldn’t expect a smile so gummy like that. "Okay. Yeah. Do you have a place in mind?"

"Well, you didn't get to try my burger,” Dean points out. “And I guarantee if you dig burgers, you won't find anywhere else around here that cooks 'em as mean."

"You mean we should have our date here?"

"You said you dig this joint. Why not? Plus, you get to plug in some more people-watching time. Maybe scope out some potential candidates for a virgin sacrifice."

"Like anyone here is a virgin."

"I take offense to that—I'm a born again virgin."

"I'm sorry, did you say _born again_?"

"Yeah, I took an oath for this church thing...” Dean clears his throat. Another story for another time. “So tomorrow night?"

Cas laughs, "Tomorrow night." Then, leaning close to whisper, he adds, "And if you're lucky, you'll have your cherry popped again."

Dean's never been more excited to be out-finessed at his own game.


End file.
